Despite
the late hour, Lord Justinian of Albora, Chamberlain to King Thaine Trannoch of
Caldera, tried his best to appear alert while sinking into a plush, elegantly
adorned chair at the head of the King's Spring Chamber. In years past, visitors
to the Silver Palace of Corendar would be greeted in the Hall of Glass, a vast
banquet hall surrounded by mirrors, glass walls, and onyx and crystal
artifacts. The majesty of the King and his Court would be on full display in
such a glorious venue. But since the current King considered himself a simple,
pragmatic man who liked to avoid pomp and frivolity, the Spring Chamber, a much
more intimate location, had become the preferred meeting location. A waste, Justinian
thought, as he tried not to yawn at his guests.

He'd
been alerted shortly before retiring to his quarters about the arrival of three
members of the Warhounds, the fabled Sotheran lance company that Earl Amminis
Adribard could never shut up about. Normally, he'd have told them to come back
tomorrow, but one of the three included the Earl's grandson, Lord Andreas of
Devrin. A pompous, arrogant man, but an Earl's grandson nonetheless. So
Justinian had consented to the meeting, despite his weariness. In retrospect,
he should have refused. He couldn't believe the tale these three men had
brought to him this night.

"These
parts were older," Andreas said, sitting to Justinian's right at the oval
table situated squarely in the center of the room. The leader of the Warhounds
still wore most of his silver plate armor, which bore dozens of unsightly dents
and scratches, along with streaks of mud and dust, which hadn't been completely
wiped away by the servants outside. Even as exhausted and beat up as he was, though,
the boy still looked ripped from a painting, with his finely crafted features
and chiseled jaw. Next to him sat the grey-haired sentinel Riordan, and
Tholstan, the giant, brooding armsman, both of whom were even filthier than
Andreas. "But they were more refined than the caves up top. These were
tunnels constructed by craftsmen, designed for people to live within them, like
the ancient dwarf cities, only there were no dwarves. I don't know how far down
we were, but it took us some time to get back above ground. I'm convinced we
spent at least a day wandering through those tunnels, trying to find our way
out."

"And
we are quite happy you did, Lord Andreas." Justinian flashed a warm smile
at the young palatine. His natural-born charm fit his role as the King's
primary counselor perfectly. "But did you come all the way here tonight to
tell me you found nicely built tunnels deep under Teekwood?"

"There
were also halls." Tholstan’s deep baritone filled the room. He was both
taller and heavier than Andreas, with stringy black hair and a short, thick
beard. He seemed a brute compared to the well-bred leader of the Warhounds.
"They were filled with belongings, as if people lived there once. And
treasures."

That
piqued his attention. Barely. "What kind of treasures?"

"Things
people would wear. Armor, jewelry, weapons, clothes. But they were lying on the
floor in piles, like they'd been tossed in the room and forgotten."

"So
not real treasure?"

"There
was gold," Andreas explained. "And silver. Some gems, I think, and
crystals. But that's not the important part."

"Oh,
I know." Justinian waved his hand dismissively. "There's also an army
of outlaws and brigands down there to protect it."

"They
aren't outlaws, my lord," Riordan said, his voice desperate. Despite being
only a few years older than the other two, the sentinel's hair had already
turned grey, and thin wrinkles covered his face. He seemed to age five years
every time Justinian saw him. "These aren't the lost men and women of
Caldera, or Andua, or Bergmark. They weren't down there to escape a crime or a
debt, or even the war. They weren't fighting together because of some shared
cause. Magic was involved. Dark magic."

Justinian
glanced over at his councilor, Eddark, the wizened elderly wizard who sat
unmoving at the other end of the table. He wore the gold-trimmed purple robes
of a Theurgist, the scholars who maintained the sacred teachings of Thandaran
wizards of old. Save for a twitch of his lips at the mention of dark magic, he
could have been a statue. "Why do you say that?" Justinian said.

"Because
I could feel it. Whatever keeps those poor souls down there, and whatever
caused our own allies to turn on us, it tried to take me as well."
Riordan's eyes became distant. "I'm sure of it."

"Take
you?" Eddark asked, his first words since entering the room. "That
sounds like domination magic."

"It
was. A form of it, I think. It was a powerful thing, though. Far more powerful
than anything an Anduain dominator can master. Certainly more than I could ever
dream of knowing." Riordan fixed his eyes on the old man. "The
Theurgy must be warned about this."

Eddark
frowned in thought, but he said nothing. Justinian took his lack of response as
a lack of interest, something he'd begun to suffer from as well. The Endless
Caves were curiosities, but nothing more, despite what these men had been
through.

"Anything
else?" the Chamberlain asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"I
noticed something," Tholstan said, staring intently at a tapestry hanging
on the opposite wall. Once he realized that all eyes were now on him, he
glanced at the others sheepishly. "But I'm not sure how important it
is."

Justinian
leaned back and gestured to Tholstan. "Let's hear it."

"When
they chased us, we passed a room with an open door at the back, with a hallway
that led to a bigger room, a chamber kind of like this one. In the middle of
the chamber was a pedestal, like the ones that line the roads outside, with
statues on top of them. But this one had only a skull on it. I wouldn't have
looked twice at it, normally, but the pedestal had a symbol on the front that
glowed... black, if that makes sense. The same symbol as the one on that man's
shield right there."

He
pointed and everyone in the room followed his gesture to the wide tapestry,
which depicted an ancient battle between the denizens of the island from
millennia ago, before the Thandarans had ever wondered what lay across their
northern sea. Humans, elves, dwarves, firbolgs, havtrols, and nuathreen all
fought together against an army of spirits, the legendary Pale Men. According
to legend, they'd once claimed this island, only to be destroyed by their own
hubris, and their souls were left to haunt the land. That is until they were
destroyed in the ancient Battle of Goldcliffe. The legend was nonsense, of
course, but it made for a rousing story, and a beautiful tapestry.

Tholstan
had singled out the shield carried by one of the Pale Men in the front line.
He, like most of the others, had a symbol painted on the front of a white,
chalky circle with four small points sticking out diagonally, as if the circle
covered up crossed swords. Three thick vertical lines were etched below and
above the circle, with a small space in between. Carvings of the symbol had
been found on three different stone altars in Anduain ruins over the last few
centuries. No one knew what it meant, but scholars all assumed it was a sign of
the people who once ruled this land, hence the artist's decision to include it
on the shields of the Pale Men.

"Something
terrible is happening down there. You have to take this to King Thaine,"
Riordan pleaded. "He must know right away."

"The
King is busy entertaining guests at the moment," Justinian said. A lie,
though a necessary one. "But I will bring this to his attention as soon as
possible. I can assure you that your worries will soon be his. In the meantime,
we'll see to it that you are well taken care of." Justinian motioned to
the guards at the far exit. "See that our guests are fed, and then make
arrangements for them to stay in the city. I believe the Regal Rose is
considered the finest inn in the city. Find them rooms there."

The
guards filed in to escort the Warhounds out of the room. Andreas stood, bowed
slightly to the Chamberlain, then wasted no time in leaving. Tholstan and Riordan
were slower in their movements, and cautious in their expressions. But they
followed their leader through the door.

Once
they left, Eddark stood from the table with a sigh and walked over to the
tapestry, staring at the symbol. Justinian sidled up next to him. "You
worry me, Eddark. I almost think you believe their tale."

Eddark
turned, that frown still plastered across his face. "My lord, I think we
may have stumbled upon something important."

Justinian
shook his head wearily and walked away. He wanted this day to end. "A
bunch of delirious explorers are attacking each other at the bottom of the
world, fighting over treasure. We should worry about that? Now? I tell you,
Eddark, if I was stuck down there for weeks at a time I'd lose my mind, too."

Eddark
clasped his hands together behind his back. "The pedestal the soldier
described, with the black symbol. Did you not recognize the description he
gave?"

"Recognize
it? I see it right there." Justinian gestured at the tapestry.

Eddark
frowned. "That description matches a very important legend. One that we
would be remiss in not following up on."

"You
too, Eddark? You pore over this nonsense all day long. I would think you of all
people would be tired of hearing about tall tales and wishful thinking."

Eddark
stepped closer, lowering his voice. "My lord Chamberlain, part of my job
is to research such things. And I do so with great fervor, because any one of
these 'legends', if true, could help us win this war. Fortunately, I’ve grown
adept in my old age at identifying which of the stories I read have a kernel of
truth to them.”

Justinian
raised an eyebrow. “This is one of them?”

Eddark’s
eyes gleamed in response.

“When
the Theurgy opened its books, we did so only at the insistence of King Damhran.
We allowed dangerous magics to be taught once more, all in the name of
preserving our kingdom against heretics. Since that day, our greatest desire is
to close those books. But that can only happen when we win this war."

He
pointed to the tapestry.

“This
symbol shows up throughout history. It’s been given many names, and even more
meanings, but those of us in the Theurgy have found a tale that we believe
identifies it correctly.” He stepped closer, tracing the symbol with his
finger. “According to this tale, which we keep away from the eyes of the
unfaithful, this is called the Aegis of Cithria, and it represents power beyond
understanding.”

Justinian
shook his head. “Cithria? Who is that? A woman?”

“It’s
not a person.” Eddark smiled. “It’s a city. A city of the gods.”

~~~

2 days ago...

Justinian
pushed open the doors to the King's chambers and strode through the wide,
circular room. At the far end, he found the double doors leading into the
balcony open, and he stepped through into the bright, early morning sunlight that
bathed the King and his opulent breakfast. Thaine Trannoch sat at a round table
of polished wood, covered by a decorative linen cloth. His chair, an
unremarkable wooden one he'd taken from the kitchens years ago, faced west,
allowing him an unfettered view of the western Artoran lowlands, the Red Hills
beyond that, and, on a clear day, the tips of the Caelmont that divided Caldera
and Andua. The King was an old soldier at heart, and he preferred to keep his
eyes on his enemies at all times.

"Good
morning, my King. I trust you slept well?"

Thaine
didn't even look up at his Chamberlain as he picked at a plate of sliced fruit.

"I
didn't."

Two
servants waited by the door, one holding an empty tray and towels, the other a
serving pitcher. Justinian waved them away and they quickly left the patio.
Justinian walked over to the empty chair on the opposite side of the table. He
sat down, not bothering to ask for the King's permission. Thaine Trannoch was a
simple man, who eschewed the normal rules of kingly decorum.

"I
take it you've heard the latest news from the war?"

"Some
of it." His expression remained stoic. "Every day I hear that we're
closer to victory. That Bergmark has no more warriors, and Andua is losing its
resolve. Yet every day I have to hear my councilors tell me how many more of
our own we've lost in the war. And this morning, to find out that Hannerkeep
fell…" He shook his head. "If our enemies truly are on the verge of
collapse, then no one seems to have told them that."

"They've
fought us for almost twenty years, my King. Perhaps they don't know how to see
their own end."

"Well
I see ours, and it grows closer every day." He shifted his large frame,
still fit despite more than twelve years on the throne.

"We
do have an opportunity to end this quickly."

The
King cocked his eyebrow at Justinian. "The caves, again?"

"Yes,
my King."

Thaine
frowned. "You'd have me send an army down there to chase a rumor?"

"It
must be more than a rumor. All manner of strange things are happening down
there. I've sent scouts to verify the claim, and the few who manage to return
tell me fascinating stories. Whoever is down there, they are certainly guarding
something important."

The
King grumbled. "You'd have me reward their deaths with even more?"

"Our
armies are more than capable of handling that challenge."

Thaine
grunted loudly. "I can't send an army down there. Not now. Not when war
has resumed."

"Even
if it would ensure our victory?"

"Does
it?" The King turned to his Chamberlain. "Can you promise me victory,
Justinian? Can you promise me that this war will end, and our suffering will
cease?"

The
Chamberlain bowed his head. "Of course not. As we both know, it's never
that simple."

"No,
it is not." The King sighed deeply. "I can't spare a thousand men to
go stumbling through dark caves searching for a legend. Not when I have fires
to put out all over my kingdom. Anduains at Hannerkeep, Bergsbor making runs at
Goldcliffe. Even the Movri are inching out of their keeps. Everything north of
Artora is dangerously close to being overrun, and you'd have me send men I
could use to defend our land down into these caves?"

"I
would."

Thaine
glanced curiously at his Chamberlain, not expecting such a determined answer to
what was intended to be a rhetorical question.

"My
King," Justinian began, taking advantage of the moment, "everything
you say is true, but I think there's another way to see this."

Thaine
regarded Justinian with weary eyes. "Enlighten me."

"Were
you to send those thousand men out into the frontier, say to retake our towers,
how many would we lose? A third? Half? Even if it were only a quarter, that
would still be men who needn't have died to protect our lands when they could
be retrieving weapons that would help us win without another battle. If we send
those men to the caves, and they find nothing, then yes, we needlessly tie up a
legion of soldiers for a few days when they could be defending our frontier.
But if we send them down there and we find this legend, if we find this dark
relic, then we can end this war now." Justinian leaned closer to the King.
"No one else has to die. We will finally know peace. And you will be
celebrated as the King who brought that peace. You will know glory only King
Damhran has known."

The
King said nothing.

"My
King, we have other legions who can hold our ground during the time it takes to
search the caves. It's either there or it isn't, but we can't afford to not
know for sure."

"You
seem certain of this."

"I
am. Something important is down there. And we must find out what it is before
our enemies do. If Bergmark or Andua gets to this before we do, it may be the
boon they need to keep this war going for another twenty years. Certainly we
want to avoid that?"

The
King sighed. He was troubled, that much was clear. He looked out across the
countryside, toward the distant mountains that protected his people from the
wilds of Andua. His gaze dropped, and he exhaled softly.

"Your
words make sense. They always do."

Justinian
bowed his head. "And your words inspire, my King."

"General
Rondell is gathering his men in Trenant right now?"

"He
is, my King."

"How
many serve under him?"

"Nearly
a thousand. Most of them Venrian and Esteran."

Thaine
nodded his head thoughtfully. "He has his lance company with him? The one
led by Lord Othar? The women?"

"I
believe he does, my King. Lord Falstar is with him as well."

Thaine
frowned at the mention of Falstar's name. He took a sip of his drink, staring
blankly out at the countryside.

"Send
a courier to me in a few hours. I'll need a message delivered to Trenant
Keep."

"Of
course, my King." He stood and bowed his head. "I'll see to it
immediately."

Justinian
motioned the servants back onto the balcony with a snap, and then walked
through the doors and out of the King's chambers. He left that room content
with his plans, the hint of a smile on his face. His King, however, sat with
the weight of the world on his shoulders.

SynopsisThe depths called. Our heroes answered. Aiden and his Calderan allies descended into the Endless Caves, only for one of their own to face death, while another faced a brother sworn to kill him. Cadman led the beleaguered Anduains on a search for Eilidh, who mysteriously reunited with her beloved Ruaidhri. And a trip into the caves by Pjodarr and his Bergsbor companions ended with near-tragic consequences for them all. But after surviving these daunting personal journeys, the ragged, outcast soldiers of these warring kingdoms finally confronted each other, only to learn that a new enemy comes for them. An enemy who draws no line between Andua, Bergmark, and Caldera. This unstoppable army fights only for Cithria, the city of gods long thought dead. From the depths of a subterranean prison, the city rises, seeking to reclaim its former glory. Will the combined forces of Andua, Caldera, and the Mark prove strong enough to repel the imminent invasion? Or will they succumb to the decades of civil war that led them to Cithria in the first place? Find out, in THE BREAKING. The sequel to The Descent, written by Kris Kramer, Alistair McIntyre, and Patrick Underhill. Part 3 of The Rise of Cithria.

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